The Things That Are Easily Abandoned

The skeleton glares back at you from the mirror, laughing at how
pathetic you've become. That's when the door bell rings.
You grip the worn brass handle, and peek through the door. Ethan looks
upon you as a commodity. You feel his eyes undressing you, making you
feel uneasy. He smiles, stupidly.
You hated being seen with him, he wasn't all that attractive. You
thought if you weren't comfortable with yourself, you couldn't be
satisfied with him. The night colored his cheeks scarlet. His eyes were
icy blue, but there was something unnerving about their hollowness.
However, they were enticing; his best feature. But a tormenting void
showed the affliction from his past and the disquietude of his
future.
Now, he was nothing more than that big, fellow tasting you in your
doorway. It made you feel so indecent sometimes. But, since he was used
to the problems and irregularities you kept him around. You found it
hard to think anyone else could possibly deal with the array.
Ethan rips you from the doorway. Minutes later you end up at some
antiquated hole in the wall. He slips his arm around your tiny waist,
as he would hold his favorite trophy. The stench coming off of his navy
blue knit sweater hinted what he had been doing earlier. If only he had
a mind of his own, you wonder. Maybe, he could come out of his drug
induced haze to appreciate you.
The small brick building framed a corner, and peering into the windows,
you see cozy two person tables lining the walls. Small white candles
melted, creating an ambience. The aromas of Italian cuisine surround
you. Just as always, you were incapable of releasing yourself from the
addiction. You escape to the bathroom.
You have such class picking up your purse, refined. Pushing in your
chair, you flash a gentle smile at the village idiot. The corridor
seems to stretch, it becomes increasingly troublesome for you to
maintain your composure.
The floor comes at you. You meet face to face with the porcelain, the
smell defeats you and you let go. Not only out of repugnance, but of
frustration. After all, you'd have to go back out and face him again.
Tomorrow would be a new day, with nothing new except ripping another
page out of your daily calendar. You'd still be Charlotte. Often you
think you're trying to relinquish more than just what is easily
abandoned. Sometimes, you think you're crazy, too.
Sitting on the floor, in total disarray, you hit a new low, and not the
low the shrinks have pumped into your mind, a low of your soul. This
time, there was no stopping it. Finally, strained, you pick yourself up
off the dingy floor.
You move up to the mirror, your practice, turns sideways, and lift your
shirt up exposing your stomach. You examine the protruding bones of
your ribcage. You look like a corpse mascarding as a human. But you
only see a distended woman staring back. Your toungue feels your teeth,
which are now stripped and gritty. "Charlotte, pull yourself
together."
With a deep breath, you exit the bathroom. When you approach him, you
sense he knows its started again. He knew you when it happened in high
school, and he felt it again.
He exhales smoke "You haven't started that again have you, Charlotte?"
You blush, because you never stopped. All the sessions of therapy, all
the support groups, you were just a puppet, you performed and were left
alone. It was too easy for you not to take advantage of it.
"Don't be stupid" And you mean it too. "You know I don't do that..
anymore. You know I stopped, I'm cured." It's hard to decipher your
unease from your determination. "Just leave me the hell alone. You
don't have a Goddamn clue."
You dash outside, away from your problems inexorably wound in Ethan.
The night is frosty outside the little restaurant and the tips of your
ears burn. You quiver, waiting for his beckoning. Finally, when you
think he won't come, he walks out under the street light.
Curls of smoke vaporize into the night air. "Charlotte, you need to
stop being so dramatic." The smoke exits his nose and mouth. He stares
into your sallow complexion.
"How could you? God." Since you couldn't face your own problems,
picking someone like Ethan was ideal. It came down to what he could
provide for you. He could be your escape, and you didn't have to face
your truth if you could wrap yourself in his.
"Stop, sweety, honey! It'll be okay." You wish he'd save his dry
cliches for people who actually cared. He thought you were crazy now
too, and you would not tolerate it.
"That's it Ethan, leave. I can't be near you, I won't."
But the fact he would no longer chase you, you wouldn't accept. So when
he left, when he walked away, he did it for good this time. Although
you were stuck in reality, he could be happy believeing that which was
confined to his mind. Sitting on the curb waiting for the cab, you
couldn't think about him any longer. You couldn't give him up. Despite
all your pushing him away, it was your way of reaching out. How could
he know all of this, you wonder? He continued down the street in the
other direction and you let him walk away, now you could forget that
you never could accept. It was now all over.